


The Musing of the Queen in the North

by Pandean



Series: Liminal Beings [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After the Battle for Dawn, Drabble, Gen, Jonerys, Most of relationships are just musings, No actual shipping involved here, Queen Sansa, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, but only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:05:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandean/pseuds/Pandean
Summary: After the battle for dawn, Sansa Stark becomes Queen in the North. A year later, she muses over her past, her position, and her future.





	The Musing of the Queen in the North

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small random drabble-like thing. Hope you enjoy. I got the idea because I read a lot of people's opinions on Sansa and how she always wanted to be Queen from a young age and they usually use this to 'prove' she'll turn evil or something. But my interpretation was that she never wanted to be Queen the way Cersei or Dany or anyone wanted it. To her being a queen was never about the power. At least, not until she needed to play the game to survive.
> 
> So yeah. Hope you like it.

Sansa Stark looks upon her crown. It's not the crown of her brother's, no iron swords adorn it, and nobody knows what happened to Robb's crown anyway. Yet it's still as austere as Robb's crown was. Sansa Stark has no need anymore for pretty jewels and trinkets, has no desire to weave silver and gold strands through her hair like some noble southern lady trying to impress a man. 

Margaery Tyrell's crown was make to look like rose seedlings growing throughout her hair, weaved in with incredible detail. Joffrey's crown had changed more often; but it was always some type of gaudy. When she was in King's Landing she often wondered how heavy it was on his head; the thought after that of course was wishing that it would turn into a cinder block.

Even Cersei's crown was adorn in some way though to be honest Sansa never got to see it. Which suited her just fine.

She assumes Dany and Jon's crowns are well made, pretty, but still commanding the attention of everyone around them. But she doesn't know. Sansa Stark has one too many experiences in the shithole they call a capital to come to their crowning and either way they were now a separate kingdom from the North. The idea of Jon's disappointed face as he searched the crowd for her tore at her heart a little before she shook it off. Jon had many reasons in the south to be happy with the dragon queen; though not if he still refused to dress in colors other than black.

No, her crown is perfect the way it is. A dark silver band that sits delicately around her head with one single ruby in it's center to mark her queendom as the Red Wolf of Winterfell. Sometimes the ruby catches the light and she sees it's shine, both taken by it's beauty and by darker thoughts of when she was surrounded with those who wore rubies like fangs. So, she tries not to look at the ruby so much.

Arya had teased her when it had been commissioned, saying she finally fulfilled her childhood dream of being a queen. There was no sting in the words, not like how there had been when Petyr Baelish manipulated the two of them against each other. Ever since that moment the two sisters had grown close; the relationship they should have had in the first place blossoming under the arrival of winter. Though Sansa no longer followed any god, the Old or the New, she found herself making many prayer wheels when Arya had announced her plans to join in the fight against the White Walkers. It had caught on, those wheels, as they took a Northern look to them and were weaved with the twigs and leaves of the godswood, weirwood bark with little faces in the middle staring back. Always staring.

Sansa smiled politely when Arya said those words but at the same time something inside her sunk. She'd been on the verge of realizing it for a while but never actually allowed herself to think it. Because thinking it would mean she would start to forgive herself for her misdeeds and the day Sansa forgave herself was the day that the father regrew his head. 

Sansa had never wanted to be the Queen. That was the truth of it. Margaery and Cersei and Dany....they had wanted it. That power, the ability to rule, the control that came along with being the ruler of the seven kingdoms. Even if it meant manipulating and killing husbands, even if it meant flying on the back of dragons, they had known what they wanted. They wanted to be the Queen.

And then there was Sansa. Poor, naive, eleven year old Sansa who had dreamed of knights and maidens and gorged herself on songs; who longed for the stories of the south and not the harshness of the north, who wanted to marry a high lord and have his babies. And what higher lord to marry than the king? No, when Sansa was a child she had no inkling of wanting to be Queen--at least not the way the other Queens in her life did. And it made her frown, thinking, wishing that she could go back to herself as a child and scream at her to abandon those dreams of nice high lords and courtly manners, that the world was cruel and would use and abuse her. That she was worth more than the children she could carry.

That being Queen meant so much more than being the wife of the King and mother of his children.

But she was Queen now and it was her duty, entrusted to her not only from the King and Queen of the Southern Kingdoms, but by the Northern Lords who saw her bravery as she lead the common folk, the ones left behind, during the War for Dawn. Some used to say Sansa was a Tully trout in wolf's skin back when she was a child. But she wasn't. She'd never been.

Sansa was a Stark and a Stark endured because winter was always truly coming.


End file.
